


Blown Away

by FoggyJ



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Fantasizing, Grinding, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Touch-Starved, no major spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyJ/pseuds/FoggyJ
Summary: Being around Bill was like being around a bipolar, clumsy bear, and more instability was the last thing that Kieran needed in his already precarious life. Avoiding him, like avoiding a real bear in the wilderness, seemed to be the best course of action.





	1. Prey's Desires

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time really writing anything, but I hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are appreciated, thanks for reading!!

Kieran shook his head in slight amusement, maybe a bit of pity, as he watched Bill stumble drunkenly about, attempting to catch the attention of Karen or one of the other camp women. He quickly turned his eyes back down to the saddle he was polishing when he heard Bill swear loudly while Karen rolled her eyes at him and walked away, leaving the drunk alone with his own grumbling. The heat of the small fire going in front of the log he was sitting on and the heat of his own sudden fear that Bill was going to come bother him began to make him uncomfortable.

 

When the former O’Driscoll first was freed from the tree he’d been condemned to be tied to for weeks, he’d avoided almost everyone’s eyes, avoided attracting attention that wasn’t someone telling him what other chores he needed to have done by the end of the day. Usually, that didn’t work. He somehow was still a magnet for insults and threats being thrown his way, which he supposed was to be expected, but he wished if people were going to ignore him except to insult him or ask him to do their dirty work, that they would just ignore him all together.

As time went on, he still felt compelled to spend most of the time he wasn't doing chores at the scout fire. Eating far away from people, sleeping even farther away. Yet, it seemed that hostilities had been dying down. It didn’t feel like a death sentence anymore to come and sit by the main fire when there were less people around, and his palms didn’t grow sweaty with fright every time someone approached him anymore.

It had gotten even better now that they’d moved camps, that godforsaken tree he’d been tied to out of sight, and he’d also gotten a change of clothes. The new setting and new outfit seemed to further himself from his past with both this gang and his old one. 

He kept to himself and he wasn’t bothered, wasn’t particularly afraid of anyone anymore. People were growing more accepting, it seemed.

 

Except for Bill Williamson.

 

Kieran couldn’t understand it. Bill had been the first to support Kieran when Arthur had told him to just run away after the whole Six-Point Cabin incident. It was Bill who seemed to try to make up for nearly torturing the dark-haired man by offering him drinks (albeit, aggressively) and teasing him in what seemed to be an attempt at friendly banter. But it was also Bill who stomped off aggressively to find Kieran whenever something didn’t go his way, especially in regards to women, to hit or tease him, calling him a virgin and a mary or an O’Driscoll, until the larger man felt better about himself. 

He tried not to show it, but everyone knew it, especially Bill; Kieran was extremely intimidated by him. People could say what they would about Bill’s intelligence, but the man he called the O’Driscoll boy knew first-hand that Bill knew how to put a person on edge.

Kieran had, at first, considered accepting the olive branch whenever it seemed like Bill wasn’t outright bullying him, but had quickly changed his mind whenever the other man flip-flopped between attempting friendliness and using him as an outlet for his frustrations. He almost appreciated it when Bill was being nice, but it actually hurt when he turned on him to help his own insecurities, like he was just a toy that Bill could bat around and not someone he actually thought of as a person.

Staring at Bill across camp, flirting with women in his gruff and ineffective way, also stirred up something in Kieran, which he preferred not to have to deal with. Maybe it was just the worry that the other man would come and torment him afterwards; but somehow it was just as bad watching him chase after one of the camp women as it was being the subject of his teasing.

Being around Bill was like being around a bipolar, clumsy bear, and more instability was the last thing that Kieran needed in his already precarious life. Avoiding him, like avoiding a real bear in the wilderness, seemed to be the best course of action, even if it was hard to turn away completely every time Bill seemed to try to be friendly. 

 

But unlike in the wilderness, Kieran couldn’t exactly scramble up a tree or pretend to be dead when he heard the stomps of the camp’s resident angry bear coming towards him. He had two options; stay where he was and continue cleaning the saddle he had over his knee, and hope that the other man didn’t actually want anything from him, or he could try to walk away, risking attracting the attention from the one person he didn’t want it from while he was in his current drunken rage.

 

Kieran opted to get the hell out.

 

The man brushed his dark hair out of his eyes nervously, eyes darting up to gauge where Bill was (about five steps away from the scout fire he was sitting at, but he didn’t look long enough to see where the larger man was going) before he hefted the saddle off his lap with a grunt and made a beeline for the horses, luckily the opposite direction from which Bill was approaching him in. Arthur had asked him to clean his saddle and then to resaddle his mount when he was finished--he wasn’t particularly done with his job, but he would rather face Arthur’s annoyance at a job he didn’t do properly than he wanted to face a drunken Bill. 

“Hey, Duffy,” Bill growled, but the man he was addressing kept walking, turned away from Bill but knowing that he was being followed closely, if the heavy footsteps were anything to judge by. He didn’t reply, his lips frozen even if his legs weren’t as he tried to work out what Williamson would want with him this time.

“O’Driscoll, are ya deaf?” he huffed in annoyance when he realized the smaller man wasn’t going to reply. Kieran came to a dead stop and turned towards the voice, an excuse about how much work he had to do, that he had to go do that work  _ right now _ on the tip of his tongue, when he was cut short by Bill. Not by his words, but by his body; Kieran hadn’t known how closely or quickly the other man had been following him until he felt a solid wall of flannel nearly knock him over.  He almost would’ve thought that Bill’s intention was to bodily knock him to the ground if it hadn’t been for the fact that large, rough hands shot out as he stumbled, one grabbing Kieran’s thin wrist and the other clamping onto his shoulder, pulling the smaller man against himself to stabilize them both. Bill had a fairly good reaction time for being drunk, which wasn’t actually surprising considering he needed them to survive as an outlaw. Unfortunately, Kieran had dropped the near-clean saddle onto the dusty ground between them, and his flat-brimmed brown hat tumbled down after it.

Bill clumsily side-stepped the saddle, dragging Kieran along with him and pulling the smaller man flush against his body, as if he still thought he’d be susceptible to falling, and the smell of alcohol and sweat flooded Kieran’s nose. His whole body felt hot and itchy, a shot of embarrassment and something else shooting into his gut while he tried to separate himself from the larger man’s steel grip. 

Kieran considered saying something, but he was afraid to break the silence, afraid that Bill would blame him for whatever was happening right now. But Bill did something else unexpected, just piling onto the things that surprised Kieran about the other man. 

 

“Your hair’s real long, Duffy,” the larger man slurred quietly, almost absently, so close to Kieran’s ear that he could feel his breath with his words, the tickle of Bill’s beard close to his own scraggly facial hair. The fingers that were clamped on his skinny shoulder dragged up the side of his neck to tangle in some of the greasy strands of dark hair that rested there before combing them out, causing a light tugging sensation against his scalp whenever he reached a small tangle. 

Kieran had no idea what was going on, not knowing if it was fear or something he didn’t want to think about that was keeping him still, that was causing a growing pressure below his belt that he hoped to God Bill couldn’t feel against his leg. Didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched gently of if it was because it was Bill who was touching him. Didn't know if this was some new form of torment, or...

Maybe Bill was still holding him because he hadn’t been touched in a long while, either. Needed someone to hold for once, someone who couldn’t, but didn’t seem like they wanted to push away.

 

“I.. uh, mister, what are ya doin’?” Kieran finally choked out, his throat as tight as his body was tense against Bill, and he made a half-assed attempt at pushing the larger man away, looking anywhere but at the person he was talking to, especially his eyes and the chest in front of him, painfully aware that the first few buttons were open, leaving the skin and the wiry hair that dusted it exposed, and--

Bill seemed to remember himself, and he finally released Kieran, pushing the smaller man off of him, forcing him to stumble backwards a bit and flush red with embarrassment. Hopefully Bill had come to his senses because of Kieran’s words, or the fact that there were still plenty of people around that could’ve seen what was occuring, and not because he’d felt Kieran’s length hardening against his leg through both of their jeans. 

Glancing around for witnesses, Bill started to back away, seemingly embarrassed himself, before his gaze settled back on Kieran, watching as the dark-haired man bent over to whip his hat from the ground back onto his head and quickly heft the saddle up from where it lay, holding it in front of him at waist level. 

Kieran couldn’t hold Bill’s gaze, looking down to dust off the seat of the saddle nervously, not wanting to walk away. Afterall, Bill looked like he had something to say, and he wanted every clue he could get to figure out what had just happened. 

Instead, Bill just glared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, growled something unintelligible and turned to stomp off towards the trees. He probably had to take a piss, or he just wanted to go somewhere where he didn’t have to look at anyone or explain himself. 

 

Of course he didn’t have anything to say. He was just drunk; nothing that had happened had meant anything other than the fact that Bill probably had no control over his actions, but for some reason, Kieran felt some form of disappointment at Bill’s quick exit, though it was quickly overridden with shame and embarrassment when he felt the side of the saddle pressing against his arousal. 

Deciding to get rid of it before he did anymore work, or before anyone else saw him, (and also because he desperately needed to indulge himself, just this once) he walked the rest of the way towards the horses, set down the saddle on one of the hitching posts, and continued walking until he was a bit away from camp and covered by the trees. He wished he had the privacy of his own tent, but that, along with straying from camp, was not one of his privileges yet.

 

Gnawing at his lower lip nervously and glancing around one last time to make sure no one was present, he sat down with his back against a tree surrounded by a couple bushes that provided optimal cover and fumbled with his belt, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible. Maybe then his shame and his thoughts about Bill that were far from appropriate would go away for good, instead of coming back every time Bill was nice to him, though he knew that wasn’t likely. 

Kieran lowered his pants just enough to pull himself out, sighing quietly with relief as his slender fingers brushed away the uncomfortable undergarments that had been chafing him ever since he’d been pressed up against Bill. Trying not to wish that it was thick, rough fingers instead of his own.

Remembering not to linger, he spit into his hand, wrapping slicked fingers around his length tightly and quickly stroked himself, occasionally rubbing the sensitive head of his dick with his thumb to spread the sticky precum forming at the slit along the rest of his length to mix with his spit. 

His quiet breathing sped up with the increased speed of his heartbeat, and he closed his eyes, letting his head rest back against the tree behind him, letting his mind wander back to Bill even if he didn’t want to think about the other man.

Why did he fantasize about the man who flipped between hating him and befriending him? The man who had constantly threatened him and embarrassed him in front of others? The camp bully who would never miss a chance to abuse him, even if the beatings had turned to teasing over time? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to want to be manhandled, to want to pleasure someone else at his own expense. 

 

But still, it was hard not to imagine Bill shoving him back against a tree, tugging at his dark hair almost painfully while he aggressively kissed the smaller man, biting at his lower lip for a moment before his mouth moved down to Kieran’s neck, scratchy beard following wherever bruising lips pressed against his skin. Pressing a thick thigh between Kieran’s thinner ones until he cried out from the painful pressure of it. 

Kieran imagined a rough hand replacing the thigh between his legs, palming him through his pants while he begged and whined for Bill to have mercy, to just touch him, skin to skin. To fuck him and take advantage of him in a way that would be more satisfying for both of them than just teasing. 

 

His fantasy broke while he finished with a gasp, his abdomen clenching as shame and heat shot down his spine into his groin and through his dick, manifesting itself into hot cum spouting between Kieran’s fingers and onto the ground beneath him. 

He sat there in the dirt, breathing heavily for a moment as he opened his eyes to see the mess he’d made, face burning red at the thought of anyone finding him like this, hot and sticky with Bill’s name caught in his throat.

Quickly he cleaned up, stuffing himself back into his undergarments as he wiped his hand against some of the leaves on the bushes and then on his pants, standing and kicking dirt over the mess on the ground. He redid his belt, felt that his ears were still hot with embarrassment, thoughts of Bill still on his mind that he’d hoped would go away, so he decided to have a smoke before going back to explain his absence if anyone asked. 

As Kieran leaned against the tree, blowing black smoke out from his chapped lips and his nerves calming as he shook out the match he’d just used, he almost wished that Bill had been out there in the calm forest, watching the man he so often intimidated desperately jerk himself off at the thought of him. Just so Bill knew exactly what he wanted. 

 

He tried to blow that thought away with the next faint billow of smoke that passed from his lips. 


	2. Two Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He made a fool of himself yesterday, and he was going to make a fool of himself again, or his name wasn't Bill Williamson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo I went out of town for spring break and wrote 90% of this on my phone, so if there's grammatical errors or if it feels clunky it's because I'm used to writing at 85 words per minute and instead I was writing like 40. Plus there are some weird indents in places that I don't feel like bothering to fix on mobile so I'll fix them in a bit :))

Some called it unnatural, a perversion, downright wrong. Others said it deserved death. Explained it away by calling them fucked up in the head, mentally ill, something that only happened when a man’s (or a woman’s) soul had become so corrupt that their mind eroded away until only their lust remained.

Bill just calls it him not being able to have control over his own stupid emotions. Or it was just him being desperate--none of the camp women reciprocated to his “flirting” very well, and what could have made up for it in respect he got from the menfolk was nonexistent. He knew they made fun of him, called him a screw-up idiot, said things to his face that he knew he should take offense to based on their tone but couldn’t particularly work out the exact meaning of. 

It was easier to just be angry or drunk, both outlets being an ocean that he could drown himself in. 

 

But when Kieran had showed up, someone he could bully into submission without getting in much trouble for it, it seemed like the only logical response to take advantage of the situation. At least someone gave him some sort of respect, even if it was one based out of fear. 

Most normal-folk would probably call Bill’s enjoyment in seeing nervous sweat dampen Kieran’s face and glisten above his upper lip when he was tormented as wrong in its own right. The campfolk just knew this sadism to be Bill and accepted it; they probably wouldn't be so apathetic about his fascination with Kieran if they knew the ways that he would rather elicit sweat-slicked skin, burning cheeks, and whimpered noises and pleads from the other man.

He tried to drown out thoughts like that by seducing--well, more like paying for--women in saloons when no one in camp would give him the time of day. It didn't matter to him particularly who it was, just so long as he had seen other men mark her as desirable. Tried to become caught up in the gentle curls of their hair or their slender necks that gave way to ample breasts lower down that he knew drove other guys crazy. Couldn't ever enjoy their melodious voices and full lips and thick eyelashes that batted over doe-like eyes like other men seemed to. 

 

Bill hated himself sometimes. Couldn't ignore the way that his heart clenched in his chest whenever Duffy let out quiet groans of dissatisfaction or resignation instead of actually replying to the larger man’s torments, hated the way that his skin felt pleasantly warm whenever Kieran nodded to do what was asked of him, when he smiled nervously, even if it wasn’t in his direction.

Because of this, when Bill wasn't inebriated and was in a better mood, he'd started trying to build some sort of screwed up friendship between them, offering Kieran a drink or telling him he did good work, though neither seemed to work very well when three hours later Bill would go back to throwing insults and laughing loud enough to make the smaller man retreat to the edges of camp out of embarrassment. 

That was another reason hated himself. He still loved the whimpers of pain Kieran gave when he gripped his wrist too tight and the way that the smaller man cowered before him when he was particularly angry and drunk. Knew he couldn't have both the warm feeling that was brought to him when Kieran smiled and the dark satisfaction that arose from seeing fear in the other man's eyes. Yet, he craved both of these sensations desperately.

 

And of course, he’d eventually made a fool of himself because of it. 

 

The quiet, typical, boring camp evening, people milling about or doing chores or resting by the fire and nodding off to Javier’s quite strums almost made Bill reach for a beer, before he remembered the previous day. He hadn’t been drunk enough for the memory of what happened last afternoon to be blurry, which was good, because he wanted to remember what it felt like to have Kieran pulled up against him, the dark brunet’s heart hammering like a stuck jackrabbit, but it was also bad, because it meant he had to remember the embarrassing encounter at all. He also couldn't stop replaying Kieran’s thready, nervous words in his head and wishing he’d been able to grip his dark hair until more words were pulled from his lips.

He wasn’t worried about losing Kieran’s respect, or fear of him, or whatever it was that Kieran had for Bill. What he was worried about was the smaller man blabbing off to someone else about his strange behavior. The last thing he needed was another embarrassing incident for everyone to gossip about behind his back. Yeah, he’d been drunk, but not that drunk, and he’d never done anything like that before. He should have gone with his first instinct of just yelling insults at the smaller man to make himself feel better before he stumbled into the trees to relieve his bladder, but, idiot that he was, he’d made everything complicated for himself. 

 

And maybe he was about to go make a fool of himself again, but if Bill Williamson was famous for anything, it wasn’t his foresight. 

 

Grumbling at his own stupidity under his breath, Bill slapped his hands down onto his knees and pushed himself up from his seat at one of the camp tables. Kieran wasn’t in his current field of vision, but for one reason or another, Bill knew the common places that he sulked or napped while the rest of the camp enjoyed the glow of the main fire. 

He unconsciously ran a hand over his facial hair, though it didn’t do much to make him look any more appealing. Cursed himself again, this time for his looks, and stomped off to the far end of the temporary horse pasture where he knew Kieran would be, either tending to one of the horses, smoking, trying to sleep against one of the trees, or just generally existing by himself. 

This theory was confirmed when he spotted a dark figure hunched at the base of a thick trunk, and in the fading light he could see the brim of his hat tipped over his eyes, back against the bark and clearly trying to sleep. He hadn’t looked up yet, even as Bill approached closer, close enough to see the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. 

 

Kieran had snapped out of his fall into unconsciousness at the sound of something moving towards him; at first, he thought it was one of the horses, coming to knock his hat off his head or beg for sugar cubes, but the gait coming towards him definitely didn’t sound like any horses he’d ever been around.

Quickly, he realized that it was obviously a person approaching him. Who? He had a guess. He didn’t raise his head. The steps didn't sound like the uneven one of a drunk, so possibly he didn't have too much to worry about. Maybe it would be more effective to try the “play dead” tactic instead of fleeing this time.

But when he sensed the man standing over him like dark clouds before a storm, Kieran reflexively shivered, trying to keep his breathing gentle and controlled to continue feigning sleep, nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt the hard toe of a boot roughly nudge his ribs. Should’ve guessed that playing dead wouldn’t work. There was no avoiding Bill, not by running, not by ignoring--not even his thoughts were free of him. 

“You need somethin’, mister?” he asked, finally looking up, realizing too late that he sounded tired and much too annoyed. Hopefully Bill wouldn’t take too much offense to it, but Kieran really was almost at the end of his rope for today. He didn’t seem to notice, though, just glared at him with the usual amount of disdain that he usually had for anyone. Actually, no, slightly more disdain than usual, Kieran realized, observing his narrowed eyes and bunched eyebrows. 

He'd hoped against his common sense that maybe Bill had been in one of his friendly moods, but that didn't seem to be the case. 

 

“Get up,” Bill grunted without explanation, and when he saw Kieran arch his back in a stretch and yawn, he prodded at his ribs a bit harder with his toe and glared. “Now. I need to, uh, talk to you,” He continued to try to sound threatening, but Kieran heard his voice falter slightly as Bill averted his burning gaze and spit casually on the ground beside him. 

Kieran couldn't bear to look at the man above him anymore, either, afraid that the blood rushing to his face as he recalled what he'd been thinking about after their encounter the previous day, what he'd been thinking about before and since then, would betray him. 

Before he could dwell on that anymore, he quickly shuffled to his feet, still staring past the man in front of him. As soon as the bottoms of his boots were flat on the ground and his back was straightened, he was slammed against the rough bark of the tree and his breath left his lungs with a woosh. 

Kieran's hands flew to grip the wrists of the hands that had pushed him there, Bill's fists tightly holding the collar of Kieran's blue overshirt on each side, his knuckles pressing up into the bottom of the smaller man's jaw as he glared down at him.

 

As Kieran had expected, this wasn't going to be a friendly talk. He felt Bill's hot breath wash over him, and he whimpered softly, giving a tug at the wrists he was gripping nervously while he waited to see if the other man actually had anything to say or if he'd just wanted to catch him off guard. 

Forced to look up into Bill's face now, his face tilted upwards forcefully by the knuckles below his jaw, Kieran saw his dark brown eyes burning, alight with thought and glinting dangerously, reminding him very strongly of the eyes that burned into him in his fantasies. He glanced away from his eyes and saw the man's bearded jaw moving from side to side slightly as he ground his teeth while he decided exactly what to say. 

“Listen here,” Bill finally started, and the man he had pinned under him decided against giving a smart remark. Of course he was listening. He nodded anyways, just in case the angry man actually did want a response.

“You remember yesterday? I mean, yesterday when..” he paused to clear his throat, maybe trying to get the shake out of his voice, and Kieran felt him move in closer, could feel his beard brushing against the stray strands of hair by his ear. 

“You don’t.. You ain’t gonna tell nobody about that. Got it?” he growled the last words quietly, harshly, nearly hissed them through his teeth, and his breath grazed Kieran’s ear, the heat and intensity of the other man’s words going straight to his gut. He shuddered, and realized that despite Bill’s obvious disgust at their situation yesterday, he’d placed them in almost the same one again. But more private.

“I wouldn’t tell anybody about nothin’,” he mumbled back, squirming under the larger man’s grip, trying to back further into the tree, but he felt the body pressing against him follow his backwards, pressing harder than before. Kieran felt his pulse flutter as the thought crossed his mind that maybe Bill did want to be near him, touch him, if only unconsciously. 

“Well. Good,” Bill grunted, knowing he should pull away then and there, but unlike yesterday when he’d been drunk from the alcohol he had consumed, he suddenly wanted to get drunk on feeling Kieran below him. A stupid, terrible idea. But when Bill saw something he could drown himself in, he couldn't help it. “Don’t tell nobody ‘bout this, neither,” he added. 

“‘Course-,” Kieran started, not sure why he’d care whether or not he told anybody that Bill had been tormenting him again as usual, but that was because he hadn’t known what Bill had been referring to. 

 

His statement had been stopped when one of the hands that had been bunching the fabric of his collar moved to the back of his head, gripping his oily hair by the roots much the same way he’d been grabbing the fabric and pulled to expose Kieran’s neck. The other hand drifted down to his side above his hips and gripped the spot there. 

In the rush, Kieran hands had fell away from holding onto Bill’s wrists, and not knowing what to do with them now, tightened them into fists at his sides while confusion, fear, and something else that had become familiar jolted through him with his quickened pulse, now visible to Bill on his exposed neck.

Kieran’s nostrils flared, eyes widened, and he let out a pathetic noise when he felt Bill find the strong pulse with lips, an inch or two below his jaw, felt his tongue flick out to taste the sweat along his skin, felt the scratchy beard tickle along the rest of his neck, felt Bill’s teeth graze against the spot before nearly sinking his teeth in. He yelped in pain, then snapped his teeth back together to keep any other noises clenched in. 

 

The larger man felt his heart jump in delight when he heard Kieran cry out, knew that this couldn’t feel good for him with how rough he was mouthing his neck but couldn’t stop either. At least the O’Driscoll had the sense to keep his mouth shut--somehow, Bill had had a feeling that Kieran wouldn’t protest against this as soon as he’d started. 

It felt good, getting drunk on the taste of Kieran’s sweat and his smell, even if he did just smell like sweat and horses, and Bill knew it was a bad idea but the heat of the skin against his lips were driving a heat into his own gut. He could feel himself being consumed by the conflicting warmth and dark satisfaction, the sides fighting like wolves and his body and mind being torn into confusion by it.

 

Kieran’s scalp burned, his face and neck burned, and he knew that the lips and teeth marring the skin on his neck would be much too painful if he hadn’t dreamed about something along these lines for who knows how long. 

“Bill.. I, please..” he whimpered, wanting to stop this confusing thing that was happening went into different territory, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually tell him to stop. Couldn’t bring an end to what he’d wanted for so long, even if he didn’t know at all what Bill was aiming at. 

“You really are a queer, then,” Bill mumbled against his skin, but instead of it sounding like an insult, a horrible conviction, it sounded more like he was just stating a fact, one of the few that he knew for sure, like the fact that they couldn’t be caught doing this if they wanted to keep even a grain of their reputation. 

 

The dark brunet sucked in a breath when he felt the hand above his hip come up to rip open the top few buttons of his undershirt, his neckerchief pushed aside while Bill’s chapped lips moved down to his collar bone and nearly drew blood when he nipped along the bone, and here it really was too painful to bear with any dignity. 

Kieran grunted and his hands finally found a place, reaching up to cling to Bill’s upper arm, ragged nails digging into the fabric, clenching harder every time a bite was too hard. He didn’t know for sure what this was supposed to feel like, and Kieran was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much, wasn’t supposed to fear that at any moment Bill’s teeth would rip his skin open, but the pain and intensity of it and the thought of his fantasies coming to life was causing him to grow harder and more shameful by the minute. 

Surprisingly, he realized that he could feel the start of Bill's erection pressing into the bone on his hip, not too far from his own, and the thought of Bill being hard from the taste of his sweat combined with a less painful nibbling above his collar bone made his own cock jump in the tight confines of his pants. 

He couldn’t resist it anymore. Didn’t know how Bill would react but didn’t know if he cared when Bill was abusing the skin from his shoulders to his jaw that would definitely be visible the next day, no matter what Bill had said about not wanting anyone to know about this, so he shifted his hips to where they would be as lined up as they could with Bill’s larger ones and jerked up into them, moaning a bit too loudly at the friction through rough fabric.

 

Bill froze, breathing heavily through his nose, and loosened his grip on Kieran’s hair so that his head wasn’t tilted at such an awkward angle, was able now to graze his lips along the smaller man’s cheekbone. He hesitated for only a moment before bringing his mouth to Kieran’s just as, if not more, chapped lips.

Their lips mingled together roughly for a moment, a spot of calm, before Bill grabbed the side of Kieran’s ass to hold him still against the tree while he ground into him, and the larger man’s tongue pressed insistently into Kieran’s mouth in a manner that would have caused anyone else to pull away, but a gesture that the dark haired man welcomed with an open mouth and greeted with his own tongue. 

 

Kieran squeezed his eyes shut, desperate whimpers and moans caught in his throat or swallowed by Bill as he tried to rut up to meet the other man’s hips with more pressure, because he needed it so bad, needed Bill to continue tasting him and touching him and the other way around.

The man pinned beneath Bill was covered in sweat and panting heavily whenever he pulled away for a moment to breath, and he should have known all along that the smaller man had needed him just as he needed Kieran--Bill was  eternally grateful for the luck that had brought them together. 

 

Neither ever knowing a gentle touch, never someone who understood them. One who needed someone to just acknowledge him, hold him, tell him he was there and alive. The other for who it was necessary to be respected, for someone to beg for him and to need him. 

They were perfect for eachother, in their own failing worlds, or as perfect as it would get in their ragtag gang. 

 

Bill knew Kieran would stay by his side from now on, knew he had the rabbit trapped in a cage when he felt the smaller man’s pulse thundering even through his shirt, heard the weak noise of surrender from his throat as his hips stuttered up into his own and stayed there, sweat shining above his upper lip and everywhere else when Kieran started to collapse forward into the larger man’s body. 

It would be a while before Bill experienced the same fate that Kieran just had, and pitiful whimpers and squirming from the smaller man endured the whole time that Bill thrust against Kieran’s softening dick, too over-sensitive and uncomfortable from the wet mess in his pants to continue enjoying it too much except that he knew by enduring it that he was helping Bill finish as well. 

He came with a groan like an angry animal, lips against the skin of Kieran’s neck again and stayed that way for a few moments, finally relinquished his grip on the smaller man, wiped the sweat from his own forehead and backed away, not quite sure what to do now. Still thinking of how pitiful it was that they'd both come in their pants, more turned on by the idea of what they were doing than the actual actions. 

 

Kieran stared at him, standing wobbly against the tree, too exhausted physically and mentally to go clean up, so instead he slid down to sit at the base of it, not unlike he’d been sitting when Bill had first come to talk to him. 

The ground was hard and cold, and Kieran shivered for the third time that night, and hesitated before he patted the ground next to him, adjusting his neckerchief and using it to wipe off the drying saliva on his neck. 

 

At first, Bill didn't understand, saw Kieran's eyes flick down to the ground beside him and back up to his face again and he realized what he wanted. He almost laughed. It was too sweet of a gesture, too different from the rough and rushed clash they had just had. But it fed the warmer side of Bill, the side that liked when the O'Driscoll boy smiled, loved that Kieran wanted his company even after their climaxes (albeit, slightly unsatisfying due to the layers of clothes between them) had been achieved . 

He felt his lips curl upwards in a slight smile though doubtful that Kieran could see it through his beard and through the dark, and settled himself heavily down against the trunk, their sides touching. Kieran set his hat aside and gave him a small smile, a bit surprised that he'd actually sat down. 

 

A warmth bloomed in Bill's chest, spread throughout him, when he felt Kieran's head lean against his shoulder, a contented sigh leaving the smaller man while he shifted into a more comfortable position against his side. 

He'd never felt so trusted before, so.. happy(?) that someone wanted to be around him like this. Sitting side by side together, both sweaty and tired, almost felt more intimate than their recent desperate romp.

 

It was almost too much. Bill blew a sigh out his nose, trying to blow some of the overwhelming warm emotion inside of him out with it, fearing it was going to destroy the darker part inside of him that fed off of pain and destruction. But somehow, he knew that wasn't possible. So he let the warm feeling stay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the second part of the story! I'm not as happy with it as I was with the pervious chapter, I feel like this one has kind of a different tone, but I hope it was alright. I may or may not make this a series and write a continuation to it, but for now I'm going to focus on some other pieces I've been thinking about, including more Bieran :) I feel bad for including all the homophobic stuff in this one even if it is appropriate, so I'll I may write something with less of those themes and a softer Bill/more healthy relationship. ANYWAYS any comments and kudos are very much appreciated, thanks so much for reading!!!


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